Withstand the hands of time.
Hold strong the lines of rhyme,
Burning thought like fire.
The mind's eye never tires.
Break forth the bars that hold
As leaves of passion fold
And falls the chosen fruit
Now rotting on the root.
Flames lick at its skin
Devouring all within.
Time will have its feast.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 8:29 AM UTC
Withstand the hands of time.
Hold strong the lines of rhyme,
Burning thought like fire.
The mind's eye never tires.
Break forth the bars that hold
As leaves of passion fold
And falls the chosen fruit
Now rotting on the root.
Flames lick at its skin
Devouring all within.
Time will have its feast.